


Beginning

by AlyxStar



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Mention of death is the only reason for the rating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 03:02:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4043329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyxStar/pseuds/AlyxStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Templars are a walking threat to every spellcaster. Especially Apostates and children new to their magic.</p><p>Leandra Hawke will be damned if she lets them take her family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age II. If I did, do you seriously think it would take so long to get the romance going again with Fenris?

Leandra Amell was always meant for greatness, being the eldest child and only daughter of nobles, heir to the legacy of a truly influential and wealthy family.

She cast aside a future of galas and expensive velvet dresses, fine jewels and doting servants in favour of a life with Malcolm Hawke. A bear of a man with quick wit and sharp tongue, endless charm and a connection to the Fade that marked him as Mage.

That was what had drawn her to him at first, his talent, awestruck by the bird of fire he sent sweeping around the ballroom with a tiny flick of his fingers (the same fingers she discovered calluses on just three weeks later). There was a spark with Malcolm, something that stole her breath away and reminded her of fantasies shared with her friends when they'd been young girls, that one day she would meet the man of her dreams and would marry him during the comforting warmth of summer and eternal love. He looked at her like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Weeks later he held her as though she was the most precious, a strength to his arms she immediately felt safe in. He was a man who could provide and care for her if given a chance, protect her, a man who genuinely loved her. Such a shocking difference to the cool treatment from Guillaume de Launcet, who listened to her words with a distant expression and disinterested air about him, who would hesitate even in the customary manner of kissing the back of a lady's hand in greeting. Bound by his father's choice of spouse, as she was, and no happier about it.

A life of boredom, of careful words and fancy balls and avoiding being the cause of scandal and gossip, on the arm of someone who would likely develop a wandering eye as she already had... or whatever moments she could spend with a mysterious gentleman who plagued her daydreams and whose deep blue eyes featured so frequently in her sleep? Her decision was made before the choice even presented itself to her.

Leandra Amell's name changed to Leandra Hawke in secret, and her status stripped to that of a peasant's wife, in 9:05 Dragon. She did not fully recognise herself as a Hawke (a proud name for a strong, if mostly unknown, family) until 9:13 Dragon. The first time one of _them_ came calling.

* * *

There is a Templar on their doorstep. A _Templar_. Here. Near Amaranthine. Asking for her by _name_.

 _I shouldn't have sent those letters when the twins were born._ She blinks against the harsh glare of sunlight reflecting off his armour and summons a smile to her lips, keeps her voice light and welcoming as she meets deceptively friendly eyes.

"I am Leandra Amell, yes -" lies, but she must know why he is here before confessing her marriage to Malcolm "- and you are?"

"Ser Magnus. Might I come inside for a few minutes of your time, Serah? There are... sensitive topics I wish to discuss."

"Of course, of course, right this way please." She ushers him inside and straight to the kitchen, thankful that her earlier cleaning had resulted in the bedroom door being closed against evidence of more than one owner of the house. Templars were trained to hunt down Mages, after all, knew all the signs to watch for. Of course he would be here for Malcolm, of course he would look for any signs of a man's touch in the house. Except he'd also see evidence of three children, if the door was open.

And Amelie had only come into her magic a few weeks ago. Her Husband and one of her daughters were _Apostates_ and there was a Templar in their house.

_Oh Malcolm, please stay out with the children a little longer._

She potters around the familiar task of brewing tea, hanging a small pot of water over the fire to bring to a boil, plucking dried herbs from the collection of jars from the cupboard overhead (safe from the reach of curious babies), tracks down cups that haven't been chipped from careless handling. All with a Templar seated at the rickety table, analytical eyes darting here and there for any _signs_.

"What is it you wish to discuss, Ser Magnus?" A casual tone, masking the hammering of her heart, how she suddenly feels cold. Biscuits. Where are the blasted biscuits off to, now?

"It is my understanding that you know a man by the name of Malcolm Hawke. Is this correct?"

"Ah, yes, a lovely man, Malcolm. I haven't seen him in... oh, three years or so, now?" She _politely_ ignores his scoff at her choice of descriptive for her Husband, lies falling easily from her tongue just as they had when Father asked if she liked the de Launcet boy, if she'd be willing to marry in the autumn.

She cannot avoid the Templar's gaze for much longer without arousing suspicion and so turns to face him with an exaggerated gesture of frustration.

"Bother. I would offer you a plate of biscuits to accompany your tea, but it appears I have sold the last batch at Market without realising - a frequent occurrence, I might add! Please excuse such a shortfall in hospitality, I wasn't expecting to have company today." He, thankfully, returns her smile, and there is no suspicion yet, but she can't keep this pretence up overly long knowing this man is a  **danger** to her family.

One she welcomed into the house like a fool, but to turn him away would have been enough reason for him to return at a later date. Even without confirmation of her birthplace, hers was not a common name and Templars were not known to simply drop their leads on runaway Mages.

"Have you heard from Serah Hawke recently? There has been an accident at the Circle with one of his Apprentices, we thought he might appreciate being present for the lad's passing rites." Hah! Did they think Malcolm would have hidden details of his past from her, ashamed that he was a wanted Apostate? Or was Magnus a new recruit, unaware that she had met Malcolm through one of his _supervised_ performances as a Circle Mage? Even Amelie would be able to see through such an ill-prepared lie and she was too young to know of their flight from Kirkwall, never mind understand it. Still, she plays along as oblivious to the real reason behind his visit, a sound of feigned sympathy low in her throat as she fetches the bubbling water to pour into the cups she allows to remain in his sight.

"The family must be devastated! I wish I could help, Messere, I'm sure Malcolm would want to know, but I haven't heard from him since the day I last saw him." _Stay calm, Leandra, don't give anything away. Don't raise suspicion now, almost there._

"Did he mention any place he'd likely visit? A passing fancy of travel?" One stir, two stirs, clink clink of the spoon, change to his cup and repeat. Drop the spoon in the basin for later. Turn and _smile_ warmly. She offers him his tea before settling in the chair opposite him with an ease she doesn't truly feel, blowing steam from where it licks up from her cup, taking a careful sip and still managing to burn her tongue anyway. He looks... disappointed, to say the least - _were you looking forward to Silencing my Husband, foul man?_ \- but follows suit and takes a scalding gulp.

She does not allow herself a cheer of victory, does not give herself away yet. One mouthful might not be enough to compromise his ability to wield a weapon, or what if he is merely pretending to take a drink? What if he does suspect? His helmet is off, at least. She could whack him over the head with something heavy, repeatedly, if she had to.

But a secondary plan is not necessary, the fine sprinkle of Deathroot takes effect in moments. He leans in his chair, very nearly falling to the floor, and she all but jumps up in a flurry of skirts, crying out in mock alarm. Just a little longer, just to make sure she wouldn't be stopped.

"Ser Magnus, are you well? Goodness, you should have said you had adverse reactions to Embrium tea! I believe I have allergy remedies around here somewhere - no, no, you stay there! I can't have you falling and injuring yourself just by trying to stand, don't be foolish, Messere. One moment please." She rushes around aimlessly, her goal to further disorientate him as the Deathroot works its negative wonders on his vision and mental clarity, and when his gaze no longer tracks her progress around the kitchen, eyes closing briefly as he groans in obvious discomfort, she makes her move. It is not Elfroot she reaches for, but her preferred knife for chopping stubborn vegetables and plant roots. Wickedly sharp (she's cut her fingers on the blade often enough to know) and sunk into the side of his neck with one quick jab, Leandra putting her full strength behind the knife as she drags it, skin gaping open under her vicious strike. Alarm, a garbled cry, toppling from his chair as hands scrabble for his sword, for something on his belt, up in a useless effort to halt the outpouring of blood.

She looms over him, all pretences dropped, weapon of choice gripped in bone-pale fingers and ready for a second attack, fear for her family and **anger** at their endangerment overriding panic, stilling her trembling. She has never killed before, absolutely abhors murder, but Templars are a unique case and none can be afforded a moment's hesitation.

" _You will not have them!_ "

Those are the last words he hears.

* * *

They flee the village that night, after Malcolm returns with the children and sights the covered body in the middle of their kitchen, untouched by the hands Leandra has scrubbed red and sore.

A missing Templar on the search for Malcolm Hawke - the only Apostate to _publicly_ escape Kirkwall's Circle - would not go unnoticed for long. An inexperienced Templar assuming a former noblewoman's hospitality harmless was _luck_. They would not be so fortunate a second time, and so they pack the absolute essentials, loose the animals, and set off on horseback, faithful Mabari bounding alongside as Malcolm twists in his saddle to look back. Leandra notices the flash of regret - knows him too well to miss it - but it is gone just as quickly, replaced by a swelling fireball above his head and a safe distance up from the toddlers strapped to his front and back. She wraps Amelie tighter into her small travelling cloak, using the excuse of fussing over her temperature to shield her from the sight of Malcolm launching the spell. She does not look back, not even when the crackle of flames grows loud and the smell of smoke follows after them.

She made her choice in the kitchen, when she decided to take another's life in defence of her Husband and her _harmless_ children. There is no back, only forward, remaining one step ahead of the Templars who will surely hunt them now.

She is no warrior, cannot possibly hope to use a bow to strike down armoured foes despite the archery lessons from her days as a nobleman's daughter, but she is not without weapons. If she must resort to pretences and poison, fall to speaking false nonsense and sweet lies to protect her family, then so be it. If she must kill and flee in order to ensure their safety and continued freedom, then she will meet the Maker's judgement with her head held high on the day of her death.

They are a small family, but strong. Through all troubles they will endure and adapt.

They are Hawkes.

They will survive, even though their struggles are only just beginning. She will make sure of it.


End file.
